On Sunday, I sat at the south end of the Memorial Garden, drowsily viewing my beautiful plants. After all, I am Dr. Dick the Garden Doc and though my wife Diane thinks she is in charge, I am the true garden guru. As I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. (Apologies to Edgar Allan Poe.) I turned around and found church member, John P. Steadfast, tapping his cane on the paver walkway.

“HI John,” I said. “What can I do for you?” (A quick glance at his name tag allowed me to pretend that I remembered his name.)

“Well, Dr. Dick, I am delighted to see you back in the garden. I have a few questions for you.”

“Okay,“I said, “My wife, who is technically the garden committee chair, is still in the sanctuary, but I am sure that I can answer any questions you have.”

“I have admired the beautiful plants in the garden for a number of years, “ he said. “What are they called?”

“Begonias,” I answered quickly.

John’s bushy eyebrows raised in question. “Umm, I think Dr. Dick you are mistaken. Those are not begonias.”

“Oh, I meant butterfly bushes.” I knew that the name of the plants began with a “B” but for the life of me, I couldn’t think of the actual name,

“I see your wife coming out of the sanctuary,” John said. “I think that i will go to talk with her.”

“Okay,” I said. What else could I say?

A while later, Diane caught up with me. I was still in the garden and still “nodding, nearly napping” when she found me. “Oh, did you get to see John P. Steadfast?”

“I did,” she replied. “The plants are tropical and are called bromeliads.”

“Aha,” I said excitedly, “I knew the name of those plants began with a “B”.

Last Sunday before the rains came, I sat on a memorial garden walkway bench reflecting on the beautiful music I just heard in the church service and admiring a number of beautiful orchids that had blossomed in the garden in the last few weeks. Having managed to kill an orchid or two (or more) in the past, one might ask if I had suddenly developed a skill for growing these lovely plants? No, I got lucky. New church member Bob Milner is an orchid growing hobbyist and we have been the beneficiary of his hobby as Bob has donated, displayed and maintained a number of orchids throughout the memorial garden. So, I sat and enjoyed the orchids, knowing that they would be given Bob’s tender loving care. Music and orchids. My senses were full and overflowing. (A UU Orchids group led by Bob meets every third Wednesday of the month at the church.)

More than a month ago, our custodian Katherine noticed that a Monarch butterfly was laying eggs on the milkweed plant outside the church kitchen porch. She called to let me know, and I rushed over to church to observe. We had planted the milkweed there, hoping that we would attract Monarchs, and sure enough a beautiful female Monarch butterfly was laying eggs on our plant. Trying not to hover, we watched as eggs morphed into caterpillars, and caterpillars changed into bright green chrysalises. And then we waited for the final metamorphosis - the butterfly. And after a couple of weeks, we had our reward - at least two butterflies emerged and fluttered around the back of the church. We felt like proud parents. We would like them to stay around for us to admire, but being Monarchs, they are probably off to parts unknown. We will plant some milkweed again and maybe they or one of their relatives will visit us again. We would love that. -Diane Happy

“You are doing what?” Diane said, looking somewhat aghast. We were finishing breakfast and instead of my usual habit of reading on-line newspapers, I was concentrating on writing something on the computer.

“I am going to write a blog and post it on the church website,” I said proudly.

“But you don’t even know what a blog is,” Diane said. “And even if you do, what are you going to write about. We live a mundane, hum drum life. Nobody is going to be interested in your blog.”

“ Oh, but I think they will,” I said, “I am going to resurrect the ‘From the Garden Gate’ column that I used to write for the church newsletter. You know, the one where I said I was Dr. Dick the Garden Doc, who thought he knew much but knew little? I know it was not great literature, but....

“But it was kind of silly,” Diane finished my sentence.

“I call it lighthearted, but yes it was meant to talk about the church flora and fauna and occasionally church life in a humorous way. At least I thought it was funny - I always chuckled when I wrote it. Occasionally I would get a compliment or two from church members. And now I can even add pictures. Just think of it - writing and pictures and emojis. I’m sure that I will have a HUGE following.”

Diane sighed, “Well, okay if you must. But don’t put me in any of your columns and don’t start tweeting and twittering and facebooking. Someone will start gathering up all our personal data.”

I smiled. “Nope, no tweeting or twittering. But you might appear in a column or two. Now, lets head over to church so I can start gathering material for my new column. I saw some butterflies I might want to write about.”

Bzzzzzz! A few weeks ago, Dick and I stopped by church to do a little weeding, and we noticed that a large dark mass had appeared on a branch of one of the small oaks along Fruitville Road. At first, we thought that it was a wasp nest, but luckily my grandfather had been a beekeeper and I realized that actually it was a “bee swarm”. (Apparently, there is a process where a queen bee will leave a colony and be followed by worker bees, forming a new colony.) Knowing how valuable honey bees are, but not knowing what to do about the “swarm”, we reached out to a beekeeper who came on Sunday at sunset, removed the swarm and took them to his aviary. He later reported that the swarm looked fine and that the bees were already creating a honeycomb in their new home. The bee swarm was a marvel of nature to us, and we were thrilled that our church could contribute in a small way to the perpetuation of a very important insect.​- Diane Happy

No, not as in a "twitter tweet," but coming from the occupant of a nest being constructed in a potted plant on the Lexow Wing porch. Mom, the “tweeter," is a Carolina Wren with a remarkably loud voice and clever nature. But we are clever too, as we have discovered that she always enters the plant from the right, making one think that her nest is there, when in reality it is on the other side. So we will be watching (and not interfering), hoping that soon there will be some baby wrens who will be able to open their own twitter account. The world could use a few genuine tweets!Katherine Isabelle and Diane Happy

​​I have been thinking about the Eric Carle's children's classic about caterpillars. Our custodian Katherine and I have been carefully monitoring the emerging stages of a Monarch butterfly family forming in the milkweed plant in back of our church kitchen. A few weeks ago, Katherine photographed a beautiful Monarch butterfly laying her eggs and then had camera in hand when the resulting caterpillars appeared - thirteen of them. But the caterpillars managed to chew up most of the milkweed vegetation and when we viewed them last week, they had a look that said, "Is this all you have?” We didn't want "very hungry caterpillars," so I rushed over to Farm and Garden Nursery and came back with three more milkweed plants. The caterpillars were pleased and started munching away. As I wait for the next stage, I have been re-reading "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" and hoping that I will get to see the metamorphosis from "hungry caterpillar" to "beautiful butterfly."Diane Happy

​From the Garden Gate

Dr. Dick the Garden Doc used to write a monthly column for our newsletter. He has recently returned to continue the tradition on this blog with occasional comments by himself and his wife, Diane.

Authors:​Diane and Richard Happy

Diane and Dick have been Sarasota Unitarian Universalists since 1997. Both have been active participants, holding a variety of church offices and serving on a number of church committees.Currently Diane heads up the volunteer church gardening crew and Dick is secretary of the Church Endowment Board.

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